


Satisfaction (It Won't Kill Us)

by Black_Calliope



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Power Play, werecat!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Calliope/pseuds/Black_Calliope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In front of him, Stiles starts laughing, head abandoned against the old, ruined wallpaper and neck bared to Derek’s hungry eyes. He cants his hips so his bare, still soft cock brushes again the thin cotton of Derek’s underwear. “You already tired of playing this game?” he purrs at the man in front of him, a honey-gold line circling his irises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satisfaction (It Won't Kill Us)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qhuinn (tekla)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tekla/gifts).



Some nights Derek and Stiles find themselves fighting in the woods, leaves crackling under their huge paws and small branches breaking under the force of their playful blows, as a humid, dark green smell of  _old_  and  _damp_  and  _nature_  fills their nostrils and their heads, pushing everything else aside for a while.

Derek is always careful, tries to restrain himself - his wolf - from using his full strength, even if Stiles always complains about it once they are back to their human form. A low, annoyed growl rolling deep inside his throat every time he tells Derek that he isn’t going to disintegrate like a dandelion under a winter rain, that he can  _take it_.

But the truth is that the boy is still trying to come to terms with his new condition, learning how to control his powers, the instincts that the wild cat living inside his chest injects in his blood. So- “Pup,” Derek always mutters in reply, a smirk stretching the corners of his lips and a warm, timid bubble of pride blossoming in his chest. And each time Stiles smirks back, pokes Derek’s skin there where Stiles has hit him just minutes before, the pressure of his fingertips making Derek’s skin turn purple once again and Stiles’ eyes grow larger, more  _focused_.

They never talk about it. Don’t even acknowledge these fleeting moments, when everything stops moving around them and the air grows thinner, the loud sound of blood rushing into their veins becoming like a siren’s song, luring them into places they are not ready to go.  _Not yet_ , Derek always tells himself.

Time isn’t something they have to worry about. Derek knows it better than anyone else, has known it since the first time Stiles’ fresh, mouth-watering smell had reached him, settling in a calm, dark corner of Derek’s chest and refusing to go away. And, as the days roll away one after the other, Derek’s certainty that this is what they are  _meant to be_  - fire against fire, two faces of the same, broken medal - grows stronger and stronger. An anchor in the middle of a tempest.

So they keep playing and fighting, far away inside the forest, where the lights of the city can’t reach them and the moon is only a silent bystander.

There are also times when the game suddenly starts turning into something heavier, blows and bites landing onto places where their veins pulse powerfully, claws carving deep marks instead of barely brushing skin. These times, Derek growls, a threatening, low sound rising from the depth of his throat as the fur covering his neck rises and his ears flatten over his head in a clear warning signal.

But Stiles has grown too fond of pushing the boundaries that Derek places on his road, is starting to get more confident and perseverant, and that’s why he hisses back each time, his long, sand-colored tail slicing the air and his lips retreating to reveal sharp, deathly fangs.  _Don’t want you to go easy on me._  Everything in his posture, in the way he lowers his body to the ground right before attacking- It’s like a scream. Stiles’ sheer want of confrontation, his determination to finally face Derek as an  _equal_  pushing him into challenging the Alpha.

And that’s what Stiles walking naked into Derek’s room represents. A new, more subtle, challenge. Stiles pushing Derek into making a move before it’ll be too late, before Derek will lose the match and with it the only chance he’ll ever get of having this, having Stiles with no reserves, owning him like  _it’ meant to be_.

The sight of Stiles, all naked, pale skin in display for Derek to see, for Derek to desire, makes the color of Derek’s eyes bleed into a rich, bright shade of red. “You are not allowed-” he snarls, presses Stiles against the wall, keeps his thin, yet no more fragile, wrists pinned against the cold surface.

There is no way to fight back the rush of blind want that hits Derek’s guts, makes his body bend towards Stiles’, while sweet, ink-dark warmth seeps under Derek’s skin like water between rocks.

In front of him, Stiles starts laughing, head abandoned against the old, ruined wallpaper and neck bared to Derek’s hungry eyes. He cants his hips so his bare, still soft cock brushes again the thin cotton of Derek’s underwear. “You already tired of playing this game?” he purrs at the man in front of him, a honey-gold line circling his irises.

“Game,” Derek repeats, suddenly angry, tightens his hold around Stiles’s wrists until he can feel the bones cracking inside them, until Stiles’ tendons swell in the attempt of fighting him. “I will  _hurt_  you,” he spits. Physically, emotionally, they both know that what they have comes as a package, there are no compromises, no ways out.

Pure delight and a wild excitement fill Stiles’ eyes. “Exactly,” he grins, maybe madly, but to Derek he only looks young and free, so easy to break and so willing to take everything that Derek has to offer that it makes Derek want to push at the same boundaries he’s set, reach out and just  _touch_.

Stiles’ skin, his flesh and bones and soul, he wants to explore every inch of Stiles and then more, until this thirst that’s burning holes in the walls of his throat will be only a mere memory, nothing more than old scars. “Fucking cats,” he says, words dying into Stiles’ mouth as Derek’s lips crash onto his, body collapsing against Stiles’ and finally,  _finally_ \- “Yes,” Stiles mutters between kisses, a bomb that weights nothing more than a beat of butterfly wings.

Wildness, power, endless nights, that’s what they are, that’s what the beasts sleeping in their chest crave. Everything converges into a bed and two bodies moving one against the other, blunt teeth sinking into heated flesh, nails drawing long, inflamed lines over skin as they discover each other.

And then- “Come on. Come on,” Stiles moans, tearing Derek’s underwear away, pushing his hips up to meet Derek’s. “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

The implications of what Stiles has just said, of Stiles wanting Derek to submit to him- It makes Derek’s thoughts suddenly stumble, his fangs elongating against the tender, lively portion of skin covering Stiles’ jugular as he bites down just enough to break skin, lets blood pool against his tongue as he laps at it.

Predictably, Stiles starts struggling under him, hands flat against the solidness of Derek’s rib cage and claws piercing skin in the vain attempt of freeing himself. “You can’t-” he moans,  _mewls_.

But the funny thing here is that Derek  _can_ , and he will have this to his conditions, will get to spread Stiles’ ass and lap at his hole until it’ll be throbbing and slippery with Derek’s spit, until Stiles’ muscles will clench around Derek’s fingers in the attempt of keeping him inside, where everything is hot and tender, where no one has ever been or will ever get to.

It feels like the blaze of an epidemic, like breathing in ash and needles, fighting and fucking, making Stiles’ submit to his wolf, roll over his belly and just-  _surrender_.

“You’re such a slut,” Stiles breaths out when the head of Derek’s cock finally pushes against his opening, breaching and taking possession of everything Stiles has ever been, of his future and each one of his nights, of his young, perfect body.

And Derek laughs, laughs and sinks himself deeper into the boy under him. Finally free, finally  _his_.


End file.
